Who are you?
by LobbyLane
Summary: Life sucks... It always had and always will. Max Bialystock is sure about that, but then someone is bound to change that attitude forever. Producers One-Shot The Producers (c) Mel Brooks


There he was again.

He could see him clearly. This was funny. There must have been thousands of people seeing these shows every day and never once had he memorized only one face. After all, they were just an audience, right? Just an audience; there to spend money. Made to make his job work.

But somehow he couldn't forget about that one.

He'd seen him before. In other productions. As usual he took the last seat in the mezzanine and would sort of hide in the shadows almost as if he was afraid of letting anyone notice he was there.

But he was.

So, why did a gray mousy nobody draw so much attention on himself?

Max even found himself looking up to that seat each time he was in the theater. Just to check, of course. Not that he cared. No, it wasn't like that at all.

He simply found it very curious. The fact, that a young man visited his productions over and over again. And he was alone. Always.

Sometimes he would look up to the empty seat when they rehearsed and nobody was around. Whoever this guy was (Again! Not that he cared!) he wondered whatever his motivations were, where he came from or even if anyone else had noticed. Not many people went to the theater alone after all. Sure, he'd done it when he was younger. Much younger...

But that was so long ago.

So, maybe this was the reason he could not shake his thoughts about this strange visitor. He reminded him of his own past. And the more he thought about it, he just didn't want to remember.

Things had been hard enough and seemed not to get any better.

He looked down at the current reviews lying in front of him in widespread newspapers all over the tables. This was a disaster. The critics hated this play. Not that it was any different with other productions he was involved into. No, lately some kind of bad luck was sticking to him. And it drove him crazy. This wasn't at all how it was supposed to be. He had been successful after Boris died. He'd captured a reputation; even fame if you want. He'd had everything.

And now the whole business was laughing at him. He almost lost all his contacts.

Plus, there was no one to talk to about this.

He'd never been too keen on friendships; a fact which he sometimes regretted. But then he remembered how painful it always turned out to be. He didn't trust people. Not anymore. And he knew perfectly well no one was interested in spending more time with him than necessary. It was fine. It worked well the way it was. It always had until now. But things changed...

He somehow wished he had someone to talk to; at least in the darkest moments when his mind would take wings and he thought about simply joining the ones he once loved.

He thought about Roger. But no. You don't shit where you eat. Being closer to someone he worked with wasn't what he seriously wanted. And Roger DeBris was...well, different.

Max hated this emotional crap. No one should know he was feeling lonely. Hell, he was Max Bialystock. The one who got along no matter what. And Roger... Well, he had heard rumors about him having a new partner anyway. So, why bother to think about that. He would turn to him again when he needed something.

Max shook his head and folded the papers together. This was no use at all. He decided to go home; or to the place he was forced to call home now.

But stepping outside the theater was even worse. He eavesdropped people who complained loudly about his latest play. For all the world to hear.

He rolled his eyes. Why couldn't they just shut up.

"The reviews come out a lot faster when the critics leave at intermission...," he mumbled looking into another paper he just bought to check what the people were gossiping about.

This was yet another nightmare. He marched his way home to his office, grumpy and irritable.

Arriving there he hung up his coat, looking outside the dirty windows into the illuminated streets.

"Yeah, Mr. Stranger...," he thought, laughing derisively. "Soon there won't be anymore shows you can attend all alone."

He felt tired. So many things of his past managed to pass the wall he built around his memory lately and their weight seemed to bring him to his knees. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to stem against them. Life sucked. Period. And there was nothing, but absolutely nothing that could change this misery he was living in. He had nothing left. And there was no one.

Max lay down on his leather couch, closing his eyes and trying to forget about all of that for another few hours. Time didn't matter anyway. Every day was the same. Every person looked the same and if he was quite honest to himself life simply bored him to death. Hah, if only...

A knock on the door ripped him out of his thoughts again.

Damn it! Who could that be? He opened his eyes a little and gazed to the windows. Bright daylight? Holy Shit! He didn't feel like having slept at all, but another day had broken already. What time was it? He didn't know. And did he really care? No, not really...

Another knock...

"Oh, God damn it! Just leave, whoever you are! I don't wanna see anyone," Max thought and decided to just stay put. If no one answered this obnoxious knocker was bound to leave sooner or later.

Another knock...

"Hell! ' _Later'_ it is...," Max thought, turning his head around once more.

He heard how his door carefully opened. Why didn't he lock it? Well, it was too late obviously.

"Hello?" A horrible unfamiliar voice said. "Mr. Bialystock?"

Go away! Go away! Go away!

"Anybody here?"

Max wasn't moving a muscle, praying that visitor would just give up and leave.

"Mr. Bialystock?"

Oh, for heaven's sake! This guy obviously didn't understand the common term of not answering at all! Max felt an anger arising inside of him. Why the hell didn't people get he wasn't someone to force their will onto. The nerves of that one... Unbelievable! Entering here and not getting it. This was just too much.

Max jumped up in a rage, stumping straight towards this guy.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he yelled.

The younger guy backed away in shock, almost running to the door again but in his panic he wasn't able to open it.

That was it!

Max quickly stepped closer to him until their faces were almost touching.

"Speak to me, dummy! Speak!" he yelled once more.

No reaction! God damn it!

"Why don't you speak?" Max shouted in a rage.

But all of a sudden he didn't feel any anger anymore. He was baffled. This guy seriously seemed to be frightened. His whole body shivered and he was barely able to use his voice anymore.

"S-scared... C-can't talk," he stuttered.

Max took a closer look and for a second felt like falling over. This just couldn't be.

He looked at the younger guy once more. A slender man with brown hair and big brown eyes, wearing an insignificant bluish gray suit and carrying a brown leather bag.

No one Max would ever make contact with, but yet he knew him. And that realization made him almost speechless. This was the stranger he'd seen so many times in the theater.

The one hiding in the dark...

Max's eyes widened. What the hell was he doing here?

"Alright," he said, trying hard to sound calmer and more soothing. "I'm sorry. Just...get a hold of yourself. Come on."

He took his arm and gently lead him inside the office again. The man was still shivering.

This was insane. Why would he care? Yet, he did...

He was being really gentle, just for once, careful not to scare this boy any more.

And he was slowly calming down. Max could feel it.

"Look...take a deep breath," he said as he watched that kid do exactly what he was told to. "Now, let it out slowly...!"

It seemed to help at least a bit. Max turned to him once more, still not believing who was standing there in front of him.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly.

The boy took another deep breath.

"I am Leopold Bloom. I'm an accountant. I'm from Whitehall and Marks and I've come here to do your books!"...


End file.
